


Take My Hand

by vogue91



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 11:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13076028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogue91/pseuds/vogue91
Summary: Kreacher had always been proud of serving the Noble House of Black. And yet, until now, he couldn’t really understand why.Now he knew.





	Take My Hand

A sigh.

By now he had learnt to recognize his Mistress’ expressions.

And that sigh meant scorn, boredom, frustration.

That sloth, so typical of aristocracy.

Even the mere thought of such thing made him feel like punishing himself, but he decided he would’ve postponed his mortification for a few house.

He was a House Elf, he had to hurt himself for thinking bad of his Mistress.

But, first, he needed to obey her.

“Kreacher!” Walburga Black screeched, her tone piercing. He moved fast, throwing himself in bows and small cries of submission.

“Yes, Mistress.” he answered, meek.

In that moment, in the living room, he could clearly sense why his Mistress had called him.

It wasn’t yet crying, it was mostly a whining, a lament, but both his Mistress and him knew exactly what it would’ve brought.

It was something already experimented with Sirius, and Kreacher could remember the screams, so out of proportion for someone so small, and he remembered Walburga trying in vain to calm him, save giving up bringing up a migraine as an excuse.

Without waiting for further instructions, he went quickly toward the baby’s room.

He went in slowly, trying not to make too much noise, not to scare him.

He got closer to the cradle, and stared at him long.

He was different from little Master Sirius. His eyes didn’t have those sparkles of life, that jolt that he could clearly see into the older one’s irises.

They were... rapt. Deep, dark, they seemed already to be able to gaze into him to understand his intentions.

Regulus’ groan faded, while he stayed almost amazed staring the elf.

Kreacher was almost dismayed, used to his arrival being welcomed with weeping.

For a while neither of them moved, but they kept studying the other, in a silent debate as to decide who should’ve done the first move.

In the end, Regulus made an incoherent sound and held out his hand, weirdly bony, toward the elf.

Kreacher held his breath, unprepared to that gesture. Then, trying to do something similar to a smile, he extended his finger for him to hold.

Regulus didn’t cry. Not here nor ever when there was that elf with him, grim and little inclined to affection.

Something had happened between them, in that exchange of stares had recognized one in the other.

Kreacher had always been proud of serving the Noble House of Black. And yet, until now, he couldn’t really understand why.

Now he knew.

He would’ve kept living in that house, to serve as many Black’s generations as his age would’ve allowed him.

He would’ve served them, but he would’ve been slave only to that dark-eyed child, the first to hold out his hand to him.


End file.
